Letter to Luella: Four months

I write you this with matchsticks prying my eyes open. Three hours sleep is enough, right?

No it’s not. It’s not enough to survive school holidays with. It’s not. But I will. Thank goodness you’re cute.

I’m not sure whether it’s the heat {oh boy, it’s hot here right now} or if it’s that you’re mastering some pretty sweet moves {hello, look at you rolling over} but sleep is a thing of the past. You always have this way of teaming up your worst nights for when Dadda is on night shift. Thank you for that.

So, yes you’re rolling over. Pretty proud of that you are too. The first time you rolled over was at night on our bed, your support crew {i.e. Dadda, Lacey and I} couldn’t have been prouder. “Do it again,” we urged, like you knew exactly what we were saying and could roll on demand.

Your first Christmas whizzed by in a blur of wrapping paper and squeals from Lacey. We could have asked Santa to bring you nothing at all, and you wouldn’t have minded… but you still opened a sweet little wooden pram, a doll and some clothes. And you were spoiled from the family. I do often ask myself, “WHERE ARE WE GOING TO KEEP ALL THESE TOYS?”

In the past month you took your very first swim, your first flight, and you grew a whole lot. All those teeny tiny clothes no longer go anywhere near fitting you. Slow that growing down little girl.

You really are the sweetest little baby. You’re chilled out for the most part. When you cry you go from nothing {i.e. chilled out baby} to hectic {i.e. get me what I want right now, immediately if not sooner}. I haven’t managed to do a whole grocery shop without that impatient cry yet. Yesterday I did the old solo grocery shop and halfway through you’d had enough and got tired. An elderly couple kept looking on, so very unimpressed like they’d never heard a baby cry before. I tried smiling at them, to encourage one back {as if to say, ‘I’m so very sorry I’m doing what I can’} but they just gave me an annoyed look. Thankfully your Gaga works at the supermarket so she helped us along and back to the car.

I must go, you’re beside me now and your chilled-out mood is wearing thin. I’m going to take you to the beach for a morning walk, where you fall asleep to the sound of the waves. It’s our favourite way to start the day, even though you sleep through it and probably don’t know it even happened.

When you’re older, please promise me I can come to your house and catch up on the sleep I never had. You can make me the comfiest of beds and look after me, OK?